Mon 1st October #1762 The Park Inn Kingskerswell with Hares Shitfaced & T.Humper
Recollections - I've had a few Gun Dogs, but then again, too few to mention* as it was a strange, almost mystical evening from the Park Inn on the first evening of October. And, in my defence, I blame it on the Gun Dog in the fairy grotto. Confused? Then read on, my faithful and long suffering literates..
Said (befuddled) recollections, such as they were, herewith follow but remember the title please:
June 11th last time at the Park Inn #1746
The gathering gloom prompts a semi poetic opening by our venerable Grand Master:
'We might just celebrate the last vestiges of light (at the circle) before it gets really dark.'
The background blur of various notices by various hashers disturb the various hashers' gossip and catch up - naughty school kids all.
Man Pig reveals a bit of intelligence on the direction of the trail: 'There's flour everywhere outside mine!'
Teapot - he came back - a man like him** calls the attendees at thirty five, just as three more round the corner.
An extremely shy virgin is shielded and protected from the motley crew by T Humper - Casey is her name, not to be confused with the vice president.
We listen to important details such as Shitfaced declaring a monster six mile long.
We're off and the first climb will decide what trail I can attempt. Breasting the rise and the first L/S split, I hesitate and then decide to play the game and go long, a wiser Erection (can an erection ever be wise, I hear you ask) skedaddles right onto the short. If I knew then what I know now, I would have Shirley followed.
Man Pig and Fukarwe chat but I'm too breathless to join in.
Note the natty red heel flashers on Pork Torpedo - I want some.
Past the Lord Nelson we trundle and down nearly to 3sum's drum before inevitably turning right back down to the main road. We all have a sense of deja vu as we negotiate the playing fields, but in reverse.
Up a short hill and we rejoin the trail all of 75 yards down from that first L/S split, yes, we have been silly-sodded - sigh.
I have latched onto Piddler, he of the long range bermudas and twin knee protectors. Shirley to heaven I can keep up with him - but no, he soon disappears at a rate of about one knot an hour into the velvety darkness, never to be seen again.
Up over the bypass and the madding crowd swells the highway. The big decision is whether to ascend the fields below North Whilborough or quit while I'm ahead. Now, do I look like a Wally?
So return it is, nattering with Melon Picker about B & Q's rip off prices.
Back in the welcoming Park, I hear that the hash has skirted the Bickleigh Mill and gone out as far as the Barn Owl - an epic indeed and all of the predicted six miles - confirmed by Beefy's strava.
Armed with my first Gun Dog 4.3 ABV, I retire to the mystical fairy grotto where the hash eats are being set up.
I join the crony crew table of Deep Throat, Grinder and Poacher to enjoy the Gun Dog.
The Ipplepenners' table is bare indeed with only Wet Johnny and Erection being let out to play.
Teapot takes the DDs which are:
T Humper, Pillock shirt to Man Pig for going home to take a shower after run.
Piltdown, Horsey horse face hat to Piddler - the reason escapes me and I blame it on the Gun Dog + the audio on the clip crashed.
SatNav to Deep Throat for 'getting lost' on trail.
Finally, a well deserved DD for Shitfaced for the big 6 miler.
EPILOGUE
The Parkies served up yet another feast of hashing with a not for the fainthearted epic trail and the hash special grub in the 'fairy grotto'. A lot of hard work was truly appreciated by all, thanks T Humper & Shitfaced.
*Apologies to Frank & Elvis
**Calvera, The Magnificent Seven you fools
Recollections - I've had a few Gun Dogs, but then again, too few to mention* as it was a strange, almost mystical evening from the Park Inn on the first evening of October. And, in my defence, I blame it on the Gun Dog in the fairy grotto. Confused? Then read on, my faithful and long suffering literates..
Said (befuddled) recollections, such as they were, herewith follow but remember the title please:
June 11th last time at the Park Inn #1746
The gathering gloom prompts a semi poetic opening by our venerable Grand Master:
'We might just celebrate the last vestiges of light (at the circle) before it gets really dark.'
The background blur of various notices by various hashers disturb the various hashers' gossip and catch up - naughty school kids all.
Man Pig reveals a bit of intelligence on the direction of the trail: 'There's flour everywhere outside mine!'
Teapot - he came back - a man like him** calls the attendees at thirty five, just as three more round the corner.
An extremely shy virgin is shielded and protected from the motley crew by T Humper - Casey is her name, not to be confused with the vice president.
We listen to important details such as Shitfaced declaring a monster six mile long.
We're off and the first climb will decide what trail I can attempt. Breasting the rise and the first L/S split, I hesitate and then decide to play the game and go long, a wiser Erection (can an erection ever be wise, I hear you ask) skedaddles right onto the short. If I knew then what I know now, I would have Shirley followed.
Man Pig and Fukarwe chat but I'm too breathless to join in.
Note the natty red heel flashers on Pork Torpedo - I want some.
Past the Lord Nelson we trundle and down nearly to 3sum's drum before inevitably turning right back down to the main road. We all have a sense of deja vu as we negotiate the playing fields, but in reverse.
Up a short hill and we rejoin the trail all of 75 yards down from that first L/S split, yes, we have been silly-sodded - sigh.
I have latched onto Piddler, he of the long range bermudas and twin knee protectors. Shirley to heaven I can keep up with him - but no, he soon disappears at a rate of about one knot an hour into the velvety darkness, never to be seen again.
Up over the bypass and the madding crowd swells the highway. The big decision is whether to ascend the fields below North Whilborough or quit while I'm ahead. Now, do I look like a Wally?
So return it is, nattering with Melon Picker about B & Q's rip off prices.
Back in the welcoming Park, I hear that the hash has skirted the Bickleigh Mill and gone out as far as the Barn Owl - an epic indeed and all of the predicted six miles - confirmed by Beefy's strava.
Armed with my first Gun Dog 4.3 ABV, I retire to the mystical fairy grotto where the hash eats are being set up.
I join the crony crew table of Deep Throat, Grinder and Poacher to enjoy the Gun Dog.
The Ipplepenners' table is bare indeed with only Wet Johnny and Erection being let out to play.
Teapot takes the DDs which are:
T Humper, Pillock shirt to Man Pig for going home to take a shower after run.
Piltdown, Horsey horse face hat to Piddler - the reason escapes me and I blame it on the Gun Dog + the audio on the clip crashed.
SatNav to Deep Throat for 'getting lost' on trail.
Finally, a well deserved DD for Shitfaced for the big 6 miler.
EPILOGUE
The Parkies served up yet another feast of hashing with a not for the fainthearted epic trail and the hash special grub in the 'fairy grotto'. A lot of hard work was truly appreciated by all, thanks T Humper & Shitfaced.
*Apologies to Frank & Elvis
**Calvera, The Magnificent Seven you fools